


A Different Object of Affection

by kovna



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Crime Fighting, Enemies to Lovers, Hostage Situations, Jealousy, M/M, Mind Games, Misunderstandings, Office Warfare, References to Drugs, Sexual Content, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-08 06:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15924875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kovna/pseuds/kovna
Summary: It takes RK900 only a few days to sniff out where best to stab Gavin in the goddamn heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> imma be real with you chief, i originally wrote the porn content as a pwp standalone because i wanted some quick connor/900/reed but then i decided to tack on some plot and make it a 900/reed overall so here we are
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> im going to add some more tags with newer chapter, so look out for that, too

If there ever was a time for a man to count his deeds, to inspect his karma points closely, for Gavin Reed this is it. He doesn't stop the ugly laughter bubbling from his throat. An unwelcome gesture in Captain Fowler's office.

“That is some profound commentary, even for you, Reed,” Fowler growls in warning.

Gavin rakes his eyes over the unnaturally still form of... not-quite Connor. He almost jumped out of his skin this morning when he saw it. A model similar to Connor, an improved version someone said, yet... yet this thing is nothing like Connor, demeanor-wise. This is something straight out of some poor sucker's nightmare, _Gavin's_ , if you will. It's tall, imposing, face devoid of Connor's polite appeal. It doesn't look at him, just stares ahead like a fucking weirdo. Even though they're discussing a possible partnership between them. And being abrasive as he is, Gavin isn't used to being ignored. People can't afford to ignore him. He makes sure of it.

“This gotta be a joke, right?” He tries at least, but the frown Fowler wears tells him how pointless it is. How pointless it was for Anderson.

His question is met with silence. And say what you will about him, but Gavin recognizes defeat once it turns its ugly face towards him, no matter how much he wants to throw a fucking fit. Fine.

He thanks Fowler for his time through gritted teeth, intent on signing his resignation once he slips through the glass door, realizing with dread that the... thing is following him, prompting the hair at the back of his neck to stand up. He feels violated in a way he can't quite describe. Betrayed, too. Fuck Fowler, he's punishing him for something, oh, that's for sure. The question is what... what could it be?

He suspects he runs into a possible answer when he crosses paths with Connor on his way to his desk, the original Connor, the one with the stupid trusting face. A free android now. Connor's eyes flicker from Gavin to what's-its-name, mouth open, like he's looking for something to say. Gavin pushes past him, not in the mood for the little bootlicker. Not in the mood for pretty much anything. At least terminator over there is distracted by the puppy-eyed nightmare, it means it won't hover by his desk for the moment. He drops heavily into his office chair, ignoring its protests, and turns to meet Chris' sympathetic gaze.

“It's probably not that bad,” he offers. “You don't have to befriend him or anything.”

“Befriend?” Gavin echoes, incredulous, “Chris, you fucking romantic. It takes everything I have not to set this damn thing on fire right now and you're talking friendship.”

Chris cringes at that. “You can't set him on fire. It's illegal.”

“And immoral,” he adds quietly, turning back to his own paperwork. Gavin rolls his eyes before lunging for his coffee mug only to find it empty. Another grievance to add to his shitty, no-good day. A pair of legs move into his field of vision, seemingly out of nowhere, and he groans. What a fucking nuisance this is gonna be. It’s not fair.

“I would like to formally introduce myself. I am an RK900 model. I will assist you with investigative work.”

“RK-what?” he asks despite hearing it clear as day.

“RK900.”

“Uh-huh. And what's your name?”

“I have no name.”

“That's rough, buddy.” He smirks softly to himself at the reference. It's a useless jab but hell, if he doesn't enjoy it regardless. RK900 turns its head slightly, no doubt waiting for more input. When Gavin stays silent, it shifts its weight and scans the room.

“I will find a terminal to download our case files, maybe we could–”

“My case files, you mean?”

RK900's lips press into an unhappy line, gray eyes locking with Gavin's defiant ones. Good.

“Your case files, if you insist.”

“I'm glad we cleared this up, now fuck off.”

 

___

 

This shift is already threatening to feel like the longest fucking work day in his career and it’s barely past noon. It doesn’t help that Gavin can’t shake the feeling of something foul crawling over his skin whenever he peers over to the desk next to his. It’s like his entire body is rejecting its presence. A thousand times worse than Connor arriving at the precinct months ago. At least Connor made attempts to actually conduct himself like a human being in some way, shape or form. This one though? Not interested, it seems.

It’s been wearing the same expression for the past four hours now, like it forgot that facial expressions are available to androids. And, to make matters worse, it’s been ignoring him the entire time after its initial introduction, too. Gavin did tell it to fuck off but still. He suspects that RK900 is communicating nonetheless, despite what its stoic appearance indicates, because every once in a while its LED blinks yellow and Gavin can see Connor perk up from across the office, matching color in his temple. Somehow, that pisses off Gavin even more. What are they talking about anyway? Fucking robots.

When the clock grants him the power to leave, Gavin takes it thankfully, already shoving a cigarette between his teeth while packing up. He doesn’t tell it goodbye, obviously, nor does he take another look before fleeing the scene.

 

___

 

The next day starts off just as disconcerting. Someone, something, has rearranged his desk. Organized it one might say. The printouts of case files and various forms waiting to be filled out, or signed, sit on top of the surface in neat stacks. They’re labeled.

Gavin stalks over to the break room, hellbent on tearing the perpetrator in half. He finds it brewing a fresh can of coffee.

“You think you’re so superior,” he grits out, jabbing his index finger into its chest when it turns to face him. He immediately regrets forgetting how unyielding an android’s body is. Cursing inwardly, he curls his aching finger back to make a fist instead.

“I’m sorry?” the android says, brows furrowed, the first clear imitation of a human face.

“My desk, genius,” Gavin continues, “Who the hell gave you the right to touch my stuff? And what for? Just to show me how picture perfect you bastards are?”

“That’s not what I–”

“God, shut up.”

“You’re being antagonistic for no reason, Detective.”

“I said shut up, something wrong with your audio processors?”

“System status indicates that all functions are fully operational,” RK900 quips its little pre-programmed report in-between the dialogue it chooses for itself. “I have no intention of tolerating your violent outbursts.”

Gavin chuckles as if it just told a joke.

“Yeah? We’ll see about that, tin can.”

“The fuck are you two doing?” Hank calls out from the door frame, arms crossed in annoyance.

“None of your fucking business, Anderson,” Gavin bites back through clenched teeth, pulse spiking almost instantly. He rolls his eyes for good measure, but Hank’s gaze is trained on RK900 anyway.

“Is Reed giving you a hard time? Don’t mind him, he’s just trying to push your buttons. Probably misses the last time an RK model kicked his ass into oblivion.”

Hank’s tone is much more playful than it would have been months ago. He looks healthier, too, even sporting a new haircut and neatly trimmed beard. His shirt, while still a terrible colorful print, is carefully ironed. Connor’s doing – must be. This whole thing has been some sort of late renaissance for the lieutenant ever since Connor took on the role of Hank’s robo wife or whatever the fuck it is they’re doing after hours. And now he’s casually bringing up the evidence vault incident, worse, there’s a hint of pride in it as well. Him and Connor can go fuck themselves straight to hell.

“Yes, I’ve seen,” RK900 says slowly, turning its attention back to Gavin, face unreadable. Hank snorts from where he is perched against the entrance and Gavin can feel his cheeks heating up. Great. Time to remove himself from this situation.

He barrels out of the room in the same show of aggression he entered it with.

 

___

 

A week later, Gavin Reed still has not calmed down.

No, he always, decisively, relentlessly goes the extra mile to ensure the android’s maximum discomfort. Or that’s what he wants to believe anyway. He doesn’t really know whether it can even feel that way in the first place and neither does he care. It’s an outlet of some sort, so he isn’t going to pick at it.

RK900, however, did try to argue, to bargain, threaten or convince him but to no avail. It just encouraged Gavin further, riding on the high that is its (perceived) desperation. His own little plaything.

Until one day he finds himself dangling a few inches above ground, merciless, mechanic fingers digging into the soft skin of his neck, pressing him further into the wall behind him.

“I’m trying to understand you, Detective,” it says. Gray eyes flicker over his face in what looks like a strange mixture of impatience, dislike and morbid curiosity.

Then, without a word of warning, it releases him as suddenly as it had grabbed him; watches as he doubles over, forced to ride out the waves of pain, white-knuckled.

RK900 doesn’t apologize, simply leaves him spluttering curses down on the floor, pretends as if nothing’s happened even as they spend the rest of their shift in one of the interrogation rooms, listening to Hank Anderson question an anxious suspect from an intersecting case.

Gavin stares and stares and stares at it like he’s gonna develop psychic powers any minute now to blow that fucking thing’s head off. When he isn’t graced with that stroke of luck, he abandons his current efforts to find something else to occupy his mind with: Connor sits in the chair closest to his, ramrod straight in what Gavin assumes is his natural poise. He doesn’t take notes, doesn’t need to with a computer for a brain and perfect memory. Gavin peers over to his own empty notepad in front of him. Fuck him, both of them, actually. So what? Gavin didn’t win his title in the lottery, he fucking got some skills, too.

The suspect is sobbing, has been for a while, and Gavin yawns theatrically, earning an admonishing look from Chris from across the room. Neither RK model reacts, still focused on the police work beyond the two-way mirror. And as much as Gavin hates RK900’s uncanny valley stoicism, he finds he hates the look on Connor’s face more. It’s unbridled admiration he recognizes in the android’s features, no doubt directed at the lieutenant. As if… as if the sun shines out of his ass or something. Fucking gross. He feels the immature urge to tip the chair over, to ruin it, but stifles it quickly when he senses that RK900 is glaring at him. Those vicious fingers dancing lightly across the tabletop as if to remind him to behave. He raises his eyebrows at it in a silent challenge but RK900 does not indulge him again.

 

___

 

“Meet me in the evidence locker.”

It’s been an entire day of silence between them if you don’t count the occasional jab of an elbow Gavin uses as means of communication. The android stayed carefully unresponsive each and every time, much to Gavin's disappointment. It's not like... not like he wants another choke-out, no, of course not, but something stirred in him anyway, enough to chase it some more. Right now, RK900’s fingers are curled loosely around his biceps, its voice cryptic.

Gavin jerks out of its grip.

“Why should I?” he barks but RK900 doesn’t reply, only shoots him a curt look before turning on its heel, apparently trusting that Gavin’s curiosity will carry him down the flight of stairs anyway.

He waits two minutes to feign indifference, can’t have it know just how much his palms itch. His heartbeat, the traitor, picks up in foolish anticipation and fresh sweat pricks at the back of his neck to complete the picture.

Gavin expects a fight, verbal or physical, but he doesn’t expect this.

He freezes halfway through the door frame, eyes drawn to the blue little triangle on the back of Connor’s uniform; struggling to take in the rest of the scene.

Connor is seated on top of the navigation panel, thighs parted to make space for RK900, tie trapped in the other android’s grip, following its tug down to meet in a kiss. Gavin would think he accidentally walked in on an intimate moment if it wasn’t for RK900’s invitation and its knowing, taunting eyes. It’s fucking staring right at him, past Connor’s cheekbone, without even thinking of breaking the kiss. Asking– _daring_ him to watch.

It’s goddamn surreal, for fuck’s sake, and Gavin feels as if the unadulterated hatred racing through his bloodstream isn’t his own, his body isn’t his own and he’s somewhere else, trapped in limbo as RK900 figured out something about him that he didn’t have the balls to admit, not even to himself.

And it looks proud, sticking its tongue out in an act of victory. Eating up the sight of Gavin’s impending crisis as its eating up the sounds from Connor’s mouth.

Connor turns then, to see who’s arrived. His eyes find Gavin’s to the same effect a bullet finds its target. Gavin jolts back like he’s hit and remembers to finally, finally stumble out of there.

It’s the first time he sees RK900 smile.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first time i've ever published something. it's not beta'd and im not a native, obviously, but ya can't look for a beta if you don't put yourself out there first. anyway, i've already developed tunnel vision after proofreading it over and over, so i've decided to end my suffering and just post it


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's one person you can't lie to.

This is fucking ridiculous.

He doesn't know what possessed him to indulge the plastic asshole again, but he finds himself jogging up the stairs to the many rooms that make up the archive on the 5th floor anyway. No one likes to come up here, so once Gavin's passed the main entrance, it's pretty much ghost town up here. His footsteps are swallowed by the patterned carpet while he makes his way to the very back of the corridor. He expects an apology, yes, this much is in order, but whether he truly believes he will get one, is a story for a different day. His motivation to meet up with RK900 again, by the android's request no less, is a mystery at best.

He doesn't dwell on it as he pushes the door open.

Inside, he finds RK800–Connor, facing him this time, with RK900 just one step behind, peering impassively over his shoulder. Some sort of repetition of their last encounter.

“What is this?” Gavin hisses, suddenly uncomfortably aware of his surroundings, same old anger already threatening to well up.

“It's what you desire, Detective,” RK900 explains without explaining anything. “And I offer it.”

It turns its head slightly to press a kiss to Connor's hairline just behind his ear, not breaking eye contact with Gavin. One of its fucked up jokes again?

“Uh-huh. And how, exactly, is this what I want, asshole?”

He lets out a laugh through his front teeth and hopes it would throw the android off. Instead, he is rewarded with a smug grin stretching on RK900's face. It's a contrast to Connor's, right next to it, who looks at him with ever-so-gentle eyes. Gavin feels like he just stuck his leg in a bear trap.

“Keep playing dumb and this is over.”

Gavin forces down a childish retort. He's not quite ready to be honest with himself about all of this, but... but he'll be damned if he ruined whatever this is. Might be. His head is swimming.

“Okay,” he says simply, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay.”

His answer seems to please RK900 and it resumes its antics by running its fingers up and down Connor's arm. Gavin follows the movement with hungry eyes, caring less and less about keeping up his poker face. Follows it up to where it freezes at the front collar of the tailored jacket.

This feels... different. More promising.

“Should I...?” the android clicks its tongue, pretending to think it over. Gavin finds himself nodding. Spellbound. Deeper, deeper down the rabbit hole.

This feels different indeed.

Without missing a beat, RK900 slides the fabric off Connor's shoulders in a single fluid motion and tosses it onto one of the nearby tables where it upsets the dust. Connor doesn't so much as blink, curious gaze still stuck to Gavin's face like a lifeline. Gavin stares at some point below his chin.

“Come closer.”

He prays that his legs won't betray him and buckle under the weight of twin stares, brown and gray, and his own growing arousal.

“What did you do to him?” he questions once he stops in front of them, at less than an arm's length away. Touching distance.

Their faces scrunch up in confusion, nearly identically, and he wishes he could laugh at the bizarre display but it unsettles him more than he would like to admit.

It's Connor that thinks to speak first.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you come here? What's in it for you?”

“I– ” he turns back to look at RK900, LED blue, certain, “– am here for assistance.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of assistance?”

Before Connor can produce an answer, RK900 presses itself flush to his back, hugging him close. Hands roaming purposely over the chest that, under all those clothes, must resemble its own up to the very last detail. It knows Gavin is watching now, wants him to. It's obvious from the glint in its merciless eyes. And if that doesn't heat up his face.

Connor smiles down at him, inviting, so inviting. But Gavin still doesn't bite the bait. Wary, not of Connor, but of his creepy quasi-twin. That is, until the latter starts unbuttoning Connor's shirt, casual flick after casual flick. It's too good to be true, yes, he knows, but...

Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal for the first time, he smooths his palm over the exposed part of Connor's torso, avoiding looking at either of them. And Connor... he _sighs_. Docile, this one. Shit.

There's no need for him to check, he knows RK900 wears triumph on its face like war paint. To hell with it.

He pushes closer, boot catching on Connor's dress shoe, and he puts both his hands on him. A strange sense of satisfaction rolls over him, feels like this is where his hands belong. His nails scrape over the pump regulator above Connor's navel on a downwards stroke. Curious, he presses his fingertips to the ridge more deliberately. Somewhere above him comes a soft sound, like stuttering breath. It's not real, he knows this, androids don't breathe, which means. Which means this is for him, he is pretending _for him_.

It's what shatters his reservations and he leans up, catching Connor's pretty face between his hands, and meets his slightly parted lips.

Connor kisses back instantly, opening up easily enough when Gavin pushes to deepen the kiss – tongue sliding inside wantonly, greeted by Connor's. Just like he imagined hundreds of times.

He lets his hands wander down, eager to bracket the nauseatingly enticing, tapered hips only to find someone else's hands already occupying the space. Not caring either way, Gavin rubs his palms over RK900's knuckles, being reminded of who it was, what it was that orchestrated his current demise. He breaks the kiss, then, to catch his breath and is hit with a heavy, all-consuming wave of lust as he stares up into Connor's equally dazed face and blown pupils.

“Very interesting,” RK900 murmurs then, redirecting Gavin's attention. Carrying the same effect as suddenly stopping music, it has his head whip up. Gavin wants to say something, but he doesn't know what. RK900 swiftly stomps the opportunity anyway.

It places a hand on Connor's shoulder, pushes gently, until he is kneeling, his brown eyes fixed on Gavin's still. The implication of it all brings him to the verge of blacking out. He tries to swallow but his mouth is dry now, heartbeat lodged inside his throat. Lightheadedness seeping into his senses. In an attempt to distract himself, he breaks his gaze to look back up at RK900 and, now that Connor doesn't act as a barrier between them, he feels vulnerable. Can feel his pulse thrumming alongside his jaw, somewhere between fear and arousal. RK900 watches him from up close for a few moments, face unreadable as always, before it turns its attention back to its predecessor. It cards its fingers through Connor's hair lovingly, not caring about ruining his styled locks. Connor's eyes flutter closed.

“I have many things to be grateful for, Detective. Thanks to him...” it says, pausing as if to search for words, “...I am flawless.”

What does that mean, Gavin wants to ask but nothing makes it past his lips. The sight of Connor on his knees is choking him with want. He curls his hands into fists and flexes once, twice to regain control of his shaking limbs. His movement doesn't slip RK900's attention but it says nothing.

“Say you want this, and it's yours,” it teases for the second time. Maybe for the last time.

This time, it's easier to tell the truth.

“I want this,” Gavin breathes, relief flooding his systems with the admission. Taking him higher as Connor's slender hands busy themselves with his belt; blood rushing past his ears in a deafening crescendo. RK900's thumb traces the shell of Connor's ear, seemingly absent minded, but Gavin knows better than that. Androids operate on calculations. And this is just another one, designed to drive him further up the wall.

He groans once his cock is pulled free, rock-hard even before the first touch. Watches as Connor's eyes scan over the length of it, assessing; as RK900 slides its palms down the android's neck to rest them on both his shoulders. Not losing any time, Connor presses an open-mouthed kiss to the tip, an experimental first move, and Gavin hisses in pleasure. Two sets of eyes follow his expression closely, gauging his reaction, analyzing. It only makes his body temperature spike even higher.

Connor gifts his dick with a few more wet licks, coating the length with his artificial saliva before swallowing him down in one go. Gavin would be asking where he'd learned to do that but he doubts his sentence would be resembling anything coherent. For a while, he just stands there, eyes screwed shut, exhaling shakily through his nose, RK900 no doubt watching him try so desperately not to react to Connor's soft, staged moans and just blow his load then and there.

“How does it feel?” asks RK900's cooing voice above him.

“Good. Feels real fuckin' good,” Gavin manages and Connor smiles around his dick, eyes lighting up at the praise. Gavin feels sappy for stroking his cheekbone in return. Fuck.

Nodding to itself, RK900 hums in understanding. It moves its hands up, fisting them into Connor's hair, and pushes him deeper onto Gavin. Connor lets out a surprised little gasp. The casualness it exudes while milking lewd sounds from its predecessor has Gavin's palms sweating. RK900 is the devil.

It's a good thing androids don't need to breathe because RK900 sets an unrelenting pace now, pulling Connor all the way off his cock and back down with no respite. This new kind of stimulation is setting Gavin's nerves on fire and he knows he won't last. Panting openly at this point, the time for shame well and truly passed, Gavin doesn't possess the ability to articulate himself properly, so he grabs weakly at RK900's shoulder, clawing, nudging, begging to slow down.

It works and RK900 tilts its head in both curiosity and amusement, holding Connor in place.

“Already at your limit, Detective?”

“Fuck off,” he huffs pathetically, registering too late just how close the android has gotten. Or rather, how close Gavin has crept towards it. There's no breath tickling his lips, but he still feels the ghost of _something_ creep over him before RK900 crowds in dangerously close.

Its lips are much softer than its personality at least, so he kisses back with a fervor. This feels very much like being devoured and, for fuck's sake, it's exactly what he needs right now because all of this is too much. He needs someone to take a bite out of him. It seems, once it gets a taste for it, RK900 is quick to sniff out one's desires. Gavin isn't complaining. The android's perfect teeth find his bottom lip, the pain jolting down his jaw in the most delicious way. With his mind a thick haze of lust and his fight and flight responses going haywire, he feels painfully human next to them. Gavin is utterly fucked.

Too soon, RK900 releases him, jerking him away by his hair. Human saliva shines on its lips in the dim light. It looks good like this. Something inside of Gavin surges at the view.

Eyes ever on the objective, it motions to Connor who has been sitting patiently at their feet. Makes it obvious their little excursion was over. Too bad, Gavin thinks, he likes double the stimulation.

“Set the pace, then,” RK900 orders when it uses its thumb and index finger to prompt Connor to open his mouth again. The sight of obedience has Gavin's cock twitching. He doesn't need to be told twice, pushing back inside the heat almost instantly. It's as close to heaven as he might ever get. Timidly though at first, because, despite all of his bravado and loudmouth, this is definitely the first time he fucked someone's face. To think it would be Connor, is... is...

A hand curls around his knee. Connor is bracing himself, he realizes. The silent go-ahead for deeper, more desperate thrusts. So he does, feels himself hitting the back of his throat, cursing. He senses how close he is, so close, yet...

As if reading his mind, RK900 pushes the pad of his– _its_ index finger into the corner of Connor's lips, providing Gavin with filthier images as saliva mixed with his precome spills past to kiss the android's jawline. He's almost there. The fingers of RK900's other hand in his mouth. Gavin laps at them like a bitch in heat. The graze of Connor's teeth when he twists slightly upwards. The sounds of him dragging across a willing tongue. Why, why, why can't he come?

“Please... please...” he breathes, not sure who he is addressing. Who he is praying to.

“Please what?” RK900 asks innocently. Gray eyes following the lines of his face feverishly, drinking up the agony edged in-between.

It's him. It's him. It's his fault. RK900.

“I can't... why can't I...”

RK900 kisses him again, sweetly this time. Gavin nearly sobs. His eyes are burning with tears. When did that happen?

“What did you do?” He slumps against RK900's strong frame, boneless, painfully turned on and stuck just outside of climax.

There's no answer.

He opens his eyes to the sunlight filtering through his curtains.

What–

When reality slowly comes crashing back, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to suffocate himself with his pillow. Presses harder for a few seconds before releasing. This was... goddamn scandalizing. RK900 managed to insert dirty thoughts of a massively fucked up scale into his brain like some old Leonardo DiCaprio movie. He imagines snapping the thing's neck to calm himself for a minute. And then, wincing, he takes in the damage, or rather, observes his still raging boner tenting the covers. He will have to finish the job in the shower, no doubt. With shaking hands, he throws back the blanket, padding over to his bathroom.

He'll make it pay. That much is for sure.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will i ever be able to write convin without it being some sort of wet dream bc all i have so far is this scenario in all variations of horny


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's got a name and it's wearing Gavin out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to split this monster of a chapter into two, so the expected chapter count rises to 6!

So… so fucking what. Maybe he got the hots for Connor, what does it fucking matter.

It’s not like it means anything. Not like it would lead to anything other than inappropriate morning wood. He can choke it down, be professional about it, somewhat. Keep it in the dark of his own bedroom until judgement day rolls in. The only problem is: RK900 obviously seems to be aware of his little crush now. There’s no other explanation for it.

Gavin bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper. For the first time, he regrets putting in all this work to rile up the android. It is backfiring spectacularly now, and he wants to laugh, he really does, but he also wants to jump off a bridge, frankly. Might do both at the same time to preserve his energy.

Maybe he can strike a deal with it.

 _Buy my silence by not exposing my hard-on for a fucking coworker —_  a coworker he swore up and down he hated.

He doesn’t remember when he started feeling that way towards Connor, much less what caused it, because hell, a few hours ago he was still deep in the pits of denial. But it is real, he decided it the second he went _fuck it_ , and jerked it to the images the dream had left.

Rubbing himself dry with a towel with what he hopes is enough force to get rid of sin, some ridiculous last minute absolution, he’s just gonna have to go and see what RK900 is planning to do with the new-found knowledge.

 

___

 

There’s no fanfare awaiting him at the precinct, so at the very least, RK900 did not scream about Gavin’s deepest, darkest desires into the station’s intercom in substitution of a morning assembly.

In fact, the office seems relatively quiet as he dumps his belongings onto his desk.

When neither Chris nor Tina can be seen in their usual spots, he saunters over to the break room in search of them. There is some sort of commotion and he immediately sees why: somehow, between yesterday evening and this morning, the break room acquired a new couch. Judging from the shit-eating grin Tina wears, sprawled on it like a pimp, Gavin pegs her as the initiator.

“Nice, Chen,” he hums, holding out his fist for her to bump. She meets it with a little too much force, same as always. “How'd you get it up here? Didn't fit in the elevator, did it? Don't tell me you fucking carried it all the way up the stairs?”

Tina shrugs a little sheepishly, sharing a look with Chris.

“Connor and Nines helped us,” Chris admits. He’s stirring the nauseating amount of sugar he put into his mug.

“Who?”

Chris lets out one of his trademark infinitely patient sighs, the spoon still clacking against ceramic, and Gavin suspects he won't like where this is going.

“Nines. Your partner?”

What the actual fuck.

“You gave it a name?” Gavin crows, incredulous, absolutely hating how agitated he sounds. How, how _offended_. But he is. Offended. Both of them are silent now, clearly hoping Gavin would just drop his childish attitude when it comes to RK900, but if that's what they want, they can wait for-fucking-ever.

“Way to go, sucking that thing's rubber dick, you two,” he snaps before marching out of the break room. Still, he considers this new piece of information on his way back. Tastes it some more just because.

_Nines._

Nines, Nines, Nines. He practically seethes with rage at the innocuous syllables circling and circling his head. But they’re not innocuous, are they. Nines means stealing his friends. Nines means convincing them it was something worthwhile. Nines means bad dreams. Nines means war.

He stops a few feet away from where RK900, fucking Nines now apparently, is seated at a separate table, not sharing Gavin’s spot today and that’s probably on purpose, too. He– _it_ , goddamn it, curiously enough, looks different from usual. Its white jacket is folded neatly over the back of the chair it’s sitting in, black sleeves rolled up for needless comfort, cheek squished into its palm in a too human, stolen gesture. Gavin feels his throat convulse as he approaches.

RK900 doesn't react at all, still scrolling through information on a busy screen, faster than Gavin can keep up. For once, it doesn't seem like danger personified, in fact, sitting there, it looks casual. Like it belongs. Like it isn't his goddamn mortal enemy and… who gave it the right to do just that anyway?

Its lashes are tinted an eerie blue from the reflection, the same blue kissing the curl of its upper lip. Gavin thinks he's gonna puke.

“Nines...” he breathes, just to hear it, barely audible. Nearly chokes on it, too, chokes on...

The sound of it hangs in the air softly, almost drowned out by their bustling surroundings but Nines hears him all the same. He turns to face him, expression open, eyes searching, and Gavin commits the picture to his memory.

“Do not believe, for one second, that you are welcome here,” he spits, teeth sharp with hatred.

Not bothering to wait for a reaction, he turns on his heels and walks out of the station.

 

___

 

A couple minutes later, he returns to his seat, the smell of cigarette smoke trailing behind him still. He hasn't calmed down, but at least he's focused.

Gavin came to work to do two things: one, suck it up and play nice with RK900 to avoid whatever exquisite torment he’s certain he has up his sleeve; and two, follow up on some new leads in his current case, because he is at work after all, and they don’t pay him to have a mud fight with an android. And that’s alright with him since he sure is losing the damn fight.

So, having already fucked up his first item on the agenda, he decides to review what he has collected so far for this case and see if he can make a connection to the new information available. He crams in the folder until he catches sight of Dave Richards’ file. The one that has been haunting him for weeks now. Richards and his men are suspected to be responsible for several homicides linked to red ice manufactures all across the city. It seems like they’re getting rid of loose ends lately, with the latest victim having turned up a little over a week ago. The body was found in the pouring rain and not much could be retrieved from it or the rest of the crime scene.

He stretches his neck and focuses his attention on the handwritten note that he himself scribbled various names on. Possible targets, people that have left the business more than 4 years ago. Maybe if he could convince them that their lives were in danger, one of them may be willing to cooperate. It’s a no-brainer to start with the ones that have children, so he rearranges the list. The picture of Richards lays sprawled on his desk, an old mug shot, and it’s taunting him to find him. He shoves another paper on top of it.

Just you fucking wait.

 

\---

 

“Detective Reed!”

The good thing about submerging oneself in non-stop work is that coworkers respect that and leave the workaholic in question the fuck alone. Or they should, at least.

Cursing every god there is, he looks up to meet Connor eye-to-eye.

He’s been avoiding the android pointedly and specifically but it doesn’t seem like he’s fazed. When he saw him for the first time since starting the shift, Gavin whirled around quite noticeably and dashed off the other way. And after that, Connor did look at him weirdly whenever they crossed paths, further pushing on Gavin’s desire to hide. He realizes later that his paranoia has been clouding his senses a little too much. Of course Connor is going to link his volatile behavior to him walking in on the kiss in the evidence vault, and not the time Gavin humped his face once in a dream. That somewhat eases his nerves a little.

One thing he’s gotta hand to RK900, and that is that he managed to poison Gavin’s interest in Connor somewhat. It’s clear to him, now that Connor stands before him in the flesh or plastic or whatever. He still wants him, but at the same time, he doesn’t. Not that he would refuse him right here right now but. It’s hard to describe.

“These papers are awaiting your signature.” Connor offers them to Gavin with put-on cheerfulness.

Gavin signs them without reading and hands them back wordlessly.

“Where’s your twin?”

“I don’t know,” Connor answers truthfully.

“Hmph.”

 

\---

 

Nines hasn’t been seen much in the station in the past few days and Gavin isn’t going to start looking for him now. He’s still chasing the leads for this case, refusing to be swallowed up by the frustration of basically treading water. His notes become harder to read day by day. Some are nonsense, some he intends to review a second and third time. He has been sleeping like shit, more than usual, and it shows. Not like he ever had a talent for it anyway. To make matters worse, RK900 is still haunting his dreams in a series of fleeting images and ripped up scenarios that make no narrative sense. In one of them Nines puts his arms around him and Gavin sinks into the warmth. It’s the effort of his repressed social skills, he believes, the craving for peace that wants to force him to his knees. He wills the thoughts away because they don’t matter. What matters is finding Richards and he isn’t going to make that happen by sitting around and contemplating this feud that he started.

But Gavin is human after all, so he gets up from time to time, to get some fresh air or to get less fresh air and go for a smoke, to splash some water into his face and rub the skin pink with paper towels.

And when he returns to his desk from his recent break, he finds a steaming mug filled with coffee on it, with an honest-to-God coaster underneath it and accompanied by a Snickers bar. He takes a look around but nobody pays him any mind. Nobody waits for him to discover the little surprise.

Tina isn’t in today and Chris is on patrol.

Fucking hell.

 

\---

 

He empties an entire magazine with rehearsed precision.

The muffled sound of the shots turns out to be a welcome change after spending hours of painstaking scavenger hunts through police archives for the smallest of clues. Who needs a break room when a perfectly good shooting range is available?

It would’ve been faster, the endeavors, if he asked the damn android. He can admit as much, but there’s no point in dwelling on it. The hours are lost and his mind is worn out, so it’s too fucking late to cry about it now. He’ll unload a couple more hits into the target and then sidle back to the case waiting for him upstairs and keep on ignoring his aching back like a man.

The previously missing RK900 finds him there.

Gavin groans inwardly, annoyed that he can’t even have this one moment to himself, and debates whether he could successfully pretend not to notice Nines. This is a shooting range after all. He’s wearing earmuffs for Christ’s sake.

He entertains the notion for a few more seconds but ultimately decides against it, tossing the earmuffs and goggles on the counter next to him. Nines however didn’t plan on disturbing him, it seems, he’s waiting a few steps away, hands folded behind his back like the fucking boy scout that he is. Gavin really wants to put some bite into the thought but he’s tired. Tired enough to give Nines, and himself, a break.

“What do you want?”

“I came to see how you were.”

“You checking up on me?”

“Yes,” Nines says without hesitation, moving his hands to the front to rub his fingers against one another. Gavin watches the gesture for a while, pre-programmed of course, but strangely endearing. Something about the honesty of the android’s tone softens the animosity Gavin likes to harbor. Practically clings to at this point, not able to remember what for. He needs rest.

“Was it you who made that coffee? And the chocolate?”

Nines nods solemnly.

“How’d you get the chocolate? The automats haven’t been changed yet. They still require fingerprints.”

“I hacked them,” the android admits, a little reluctant, and that manages to pull a snort from Gavin. Nines sure is a partner, alright, a partner in crime of all things. _Whatever_ , he muses, it’s not like they pay him enough, hell, they don’t even pay Gavin enough, and unlike Nines he actually does have to eat.

He clears his throat to steel himself, because he can’t believe what he’s about to say.

“I think I’m onto something. With Richards, I mean. The notes are on my desk if… if you want to cross-check them. Can’t hurt to have a second pair of eyes on ‘em.”

Nines stops his fumbling and stares at him like he might’ve parsed that wrong. His LED circles yellow as if to underline the state of confusion. But Gavin doesn’t take it back.

“I will. Thank you, Gavin,” he eventually says in response, probably completely unaware of how the use of his first name makes Gavin nearly swallow his tongue for real. It comes unexpected and, shit, he wants to hear it again, too. What the fuck.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles, not quite sure what to say without incriminating himself further. Nines sure can sense his heartbeat, can he. So, maybe it’s already too late for that anyway. Gavin clears his throat again, impossibly more awkward this time, feels a nervous jolt of energy he thought he’s already spent creep into his bones.

“Is there anything else?” he says when Nines doesn’t show the inclination to leave, still hovering by the separating wall.

God, why couldn’t he leave it.

At least Nines doesn’t look at him funny. Or calls him out on his stuttering pulse. Something Nines doesn’t ever have to worry about. No, he isn’t looking at him at all anymore, focused on the floor by Gavin’s shoes instead, nodding almost shyly. It takes him some time to formulate a reply, as indicated by his treacherous little mood ring that Gavin is glad he himself doesn’t have. As soon as it settles on blue, Nines takes a few steps forward. Carefully slow, as if not to spook him.

“I’ve been… thinking. About your attraction, that is.”

Gavin feels his face heat up instantly, but he doesn’t balk, not yet, because it doesn’t sound like Nines is mocking him.

“Knowing what I know now,” he whispers, pressing closer, until there’s no more space between them that could be considered decent or polite, “I would like to propose an arrangement.”

Nines skids his knuckles over the fabric hiding the zipper of Gavin’s jeans. A bold move, but Gavin keeps quiet, already fallen under his spell with no struggle to show for it. A déjà-vu from another world, it feels like. And Nines knows exactly how to coax him; how to fasten that noose. Despite being Connor’s clone, his voice is… different. Lower, cooler, less friendly overall. He must be aware of that, because for his next sentence, he pitches his voice to the likeness of his predecessor.

“We could pretend...” A murmur like a promise. A beautiful, beautiful fantasy.

His breath is artificial and useless and it tickles over Gavin’s lips in the proximity, and Gavin licks them absently, doesn’t miss how the android’s stare follows the movement of his tongue. Nines nudges a knee into his crotch, into the absence of complaint, stroking a thumb over the bend of his elbow. Teasing, teasing to perfection. And he gets closer, still, until their noses bump into each other softly–intimately, until the only thing Gavin can hear is the forceful thump of his human heart allowing his pulse to buck in his palms in desperation. His body is begging for release.

The tension is broken all of the sudden, when Nines jerks back a couple steps, posture straightening like he’s preparing for muster. Gavin wants to snap at him in absolute fury; for leading him on again, for almost fumbling his dick during a goddamn shift just to leave him high and dry, but he hears the footsteps scurrying down the stairs now. He turns quickly and pretends to busy himself with his gun, successfully avoiding showcasing just how tight his jeans have become to the approaching, unsuspecting colleague. Gavin nods at them casually, just a man and his android, practicing some good old target shooting. Nothing to see here. He’s not sweating underneath that hoodie like his life is ending because Nines said he wants to… wants to…

There’s a hint of amusement in the android’s eyes, he’s definitely not imagining it, like they’re kids who stuck their hands into the cookie jar and eluded capture. It’s, for lack of a better word, companionable.

Soon after, gunshots start exploding from several booths away, making it impossible to continue the conversation.

Under the cover of those blasts, Gavin considers it safe enough to creep back towards Nines, if only for a moment, determined to finally bring this dance to a close. He reaches up and covers Nines’ eyes with his left hand, feels thick eyelashes caress the rough skin of his palm upon closing. And then he kisses him.

It’s hesitant, a silent and pleading press of lips in the real world, not the feral sting of RK900’s canines from his dream. In fact, Nines makes no attempts to be cruel, answering Gavin’s advances earnestly and soft as can be. Maybe there’s something wrong with Gavin, because he shouldn’t feel as if he’s been hoping for this.

Fuck.

The deafening silence that’s following the need to reload ends the moment, and he pulls back. Nines blinks at him slowly when Gavin drops his hand, freeing him. His LED reveals a bright yellow going in circles and his gray eyes skid over Gavin’s face one last time before he excuses himself quietly and heads for the stairs. It’s not exactly the reaction Gavin would’ve preferred from someone he just kissed but then again, Nines also didn’t laugh in his face about how he got him good, so maybe the hideous horror version of him that Gavin conjured up in his mind and his dreams is just that. Fictional.

He sighs like the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders and resumes his shooting. The ghost of Nines’ lips prevalent through it all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wish i would put in as much effort into my university work as i do constructing scenarios in which Gavin Reed is Ready For Love tm; jk imma rain drama on this baby next


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They tried to build something.

Things get better afterwards. Nines takes a lot of work off his hands, making them both more efficient at the same time. Gavin is able to focus on the important stuff and Nines thrives on picking out redundant tasks and checking them off at an unholy pace. It’s what they advertised AIs for when Gavin was younger. Early 2020s, he thinks. Way before an android revolution lead to Gavin having to eat his own words regarding robot fucking.

Nines wears this secretive half-smile on his lips whenever he’s finished a subtask, leaving him free to fetch his slower but begrudgingly thankful human partner another round of coffee. Remember when Gavin made fun of Connor and Hank for their obnoxious domesticity? Well, now he’s trying not to cry from relief when Nines hands him said coffee. Miracles do happen.

The extra time isn’t put into work solely, however. Gavin has learned a lot of things about Nines in the meantime. For one, Nines doesn’t sleep in the precinct like he had assumed, nor does he sleep at all. Apparently, Jericho is doling out apartments in newly established android neighborhoods. Gavin had asked what Nines did in his free time but Nines just grinned to himself and called him nosy.

Another, more useful piece of information is that Nines’ serial number can be turned into a phone number with some careful converting, a direct line into his head so to speak. It’s taken Gavin 0.003 seconds to come up with a way to abuse the handy little system. _Strawberry donuts_ , he texts with his feet propped lazily onto his desk. _I’m already in line_ , Nines responds instantly. Gavin sends him a few poop emojis, but Nines only deems that with a single question mark. When he returns with dessert, Gavin marks it down as his victory.

 

\---

 

They drive to a bar slash club in the west of Detroit later on for a missing person case that Gavin is sure is tied to Richards. The guy they’re looking for was on the list he had compiled. So, his disappearance raises a few red flags. He doesn’t expect much, just ask around a little, maybe someone’s seen something. That kinda thing.

He watches the smoke of his cigarette curl and puff in the cold autumn air, perched on the crummy steps leading to a back alley door just around the corner of the club he exited a moment ago. It’s so much nicer, without the constant drum of the music inside, and the sweat of dancing people clogging his senses. He waits for Nines, signaled him he’d be outside, but the android takes his sweet time.

Nines finally emerges then, hands in his new dark gray coat, a habit he’d picked up by mirroring Gavin. A little creepy, yes, especially since Gavin is still not entirely convinced that Nines isn’t trying to take his job, but he makes no comment on it. The coat is Gavin’s pick, they’d gotten it earlier that day, just after Gavin had decided to visit the bar and that he’d be taking Nines with him. They didn’t spend much time in the store, grabbed the first item that looked promising and left. It fits him perfectly, though, and Nines seems comforted by its high collar, but the absence of blinking android markers is what satisfies Gavin the most. They looked dumb anyway.

He shuffles his feet indecisively before sitting down next to Gavin, elbows propped on his knees.

“Anything interesting?”

Nines shakes his head and reaches into the inner pocket of the coat. He hands Gavin a folded piece of paper. “Two women gave me their contact information. They refused to talk to me in there, said they would prefer someplace more private.”

Gavin squints at the paper in the low light, sighing when his suspicions are confirmed.

“All this fancy programming,” he wiggles the offending piece in front of Nines, “and you don’t realize when someone’s hitting on you?”

The frown on Nines’ face grows increasingly as he takes back the note and reads it over like it would make the little XOXOs at the end of it disappear. The funny thing is, if it’s Gavin, if it’s him that he needs to analyze, he’s on it like a shark smelling blood. It’s downright terrifying. The very same Nines is blinking naively at the writing now, not understanding what happened. He couldn’t make this shit up if he tried. Gavin feels compelled to call Nines out on it, but turns out the android is little impressed with his pillorying.

“That’s because I watch you all of the time,” Nines retorts waving him off like a bothersome fly. His tone is defensive but without an ounce of shame. “The lights in the club proved to be too much noise for my visual processors so I shut them off.”

Gavin tries his best not to feel flattered out of all things, he’s got enough shit on his plate that’s too uncomfortable to think about as is. Him staring at Nines’ brooding profile framed by streetlights in the distance is probably one such thing but that doesn’t stop him. If Nines is doing it to him, he can return the favor. He drops the butt of his cigarette next to the curb where it sputters its dying breath.

“Can you turn them off now?”

Nines gives him a look he can’t quite identify. “You mean closing my eyes?”

“...yeah.”

He complies with a sigh and Gavin denies how it makes his heart jump. But he doesn’t act immediately, spares a few moments to take in the android’s features, the freckles decorating his cheekbones, the curl of his lips. Oh, he’s pretty, that’s the fucking truth. Some asshole at CyberLife is owed a promotion for this. The girls in the bar must’ve thought the same. Gavin snatches the paper from his hand again, fingers deliberately seeking contact, and then he crumples it into a tiny ball, let’s it join the abandoned cigarette. Nines turns slightly towards the sound of its demise but otherwise remains still, doesn’t budge when Gavin climbs into his lap.

“How’s it feel?” Gavin keeps his voice low and his touch light. His fingers find their way inside of Nines’ open coat, ghosting along the ribs, the collarbone.

“I can… feel your weight,” Nines lists matter-of-factly, either refusing or being unable to read the tension that’s starting to engulf them in the quiet echoes of basslines. Gavin huffs a laugh. “You’re no fun,” he whispers and rolls his hips pointedly, leaving no room for interpretation. He leans in closer, drags his lips across Nines’ jawline, not kissing just yet. “What about that?”

Nines pulls him near so he can bury his face in the crook of his neck, earning a pleased gasp from Gavin. “I keep the sensitivity of my sensors low. Processing this many somatosensory information would only distract me.”

“Make an exception.” He keeps moving his hips to drive home the message. Wants it so bad, he can’t find it in him to be embarrassed.

“No,” Nines says simply, stubbornly. “The sensors used for sampling are enough of an exception.” Gavin snickers, because yeah, he can work with that. He captures his chin between his fingers and places a quick kiss to his lips before applying more pressure, silently asking him to open his mouth. Subconsciously crowds into Nines’ warmth to escape the cold, to mimic an embrace. Then, slowly, he holds down the tongue with his thumb, listens to the small helpless sound Nines makes, before sliding his own tongue across to see how it tastes.

Like nothing, it turns out, but the feedback he’s pulling from his usually so composed partner is tempting in its own way. Wanting more of the same, Gavin presses closer, hooking his arms around Nines’ neck. The kiss is sloppy and Gavin curls his tongue against the other’s excessively on purpose, wants the android to put his talents to use. Nines seems to enjoy himself thoroughly, doesn’t let him pause for breath, fingers clawing at the back of Gavin’s jacket.

“Keep moving,” Nines mumbles into the space between them, strokes his hands down Gavin’s form until they rest on his thighs. Gavin nods in vain, Nines can’t see the gesture after all, and ruts into him with desperation. The android accommodates him, shifts his body with strong arms, allowing Gavin to chase the friction more easily.

They hold onto each other, carnal, urgent, until one last thrust sends him over the edge, melts his bones, so the only thing there’s left to do is to disappear into Nines on those steps somewhere in Detroit.

Later, in the quiet of his bedroom, he replays the scene in his head over and over and over again.

 

\---

 

So far, the stakeout has taken three hours off his life that he isn’t getting back. Makes him wonder just how many more hours have been lost to this sort of activity.

Gavin jumps a little when Nines forces the door on the passenger’s side open. The paperbag of a prominent fast food joint is the first thing that enters the car. Gavin grabs at it greedily, not waiting for Nines to slide into the seat before he tears it open to recover his favorite item: the fries. The smell alone sends him into a state of bliss. Nines looks like he has something to say about Gavin’s disgusting taste of food but he clearly knows better.

“Any news?” he asks instead. Shaking his head no, Gavin is more preoccupied with shoving the treats into his mouth, boasting a tremendous lack of grace.

“That’s alright. We can use the extra time to review details.”

“Absolutely not,” Gavin whines in the middle of another mouthful. He catches sight of Nines’ teasing smirk and rolls his eyes at himself for falling for it. An RK900 developing a sense of humor proves to be the bane of his existence.

“You think you’re some kind of comedian now? You gonna steal _their_ jobs, too, huh?”

“I’m comfortable with stealing just yours.”

Gavin rolls his eyes again, harder this time. “Whatever you say, robocop.”

“Why are you calling me that?” He meets Nines’ questioning gaze and shrugs one shoulder, too lazy to give it much thought. It’s not that deep. “Maybe I should find a term of endearment for you as well.”

“They’re not terms of endearment,” Gavin snaps in an instant, sitting up straighter in his seat. Where that streak of narcissism comes from suddenly, he has no idea.

“I think they are, Gavin, your body language is telling me as much.” A little smile tugs at the corner of Nines’ mouth. Well, trust the android to sniff the chance of a truce just because Gavin hasn’t been his usual toxic self for a while. Not to full capacity at least. But he’s not gonna pretend he’s not curious about what Nines might come up with. So, what the hell, eh?

“What do you suggest?” He drops his head against the rest and turns to study Nines more closely. The LED blinks yellow for a second.

“Typically, nicknames are shortened versions of first names or family names, or chosen based on characteristics or certain memorable events,” Nines recites while keeping his eyes glued to the object of their stakeout, a five story apartment building.

“If you call me _Gav_ , I will shoot you, I’m not joking,” Gavin cuts in, feeling embarrassment strangle whatever curiosity he had.

Nines shakes his head, clearly amused by Gavin’s flustered protests. “Characteristics, then.”

“Let’s hear it, Einstein.”

“Einstein was a physicist, I fail to see how that is relevant to picking a nickname for you.” Gavin closes his eyes with a long-suffering groan. “Just say what first comes to mind and spare me this Merriam-Webster bullshit.”

“Human,” Nines says earnestly, meeting his eyes, and the weight of his stare has Gavin squirming in his seat, fries growing cold in his lap.

“Oh my god, really? That’s so fucking lame.”

“Unlikable human,” Nines amends immediately, a frown scrunching up his features. Gavin chuckles. “You suck at this, you know.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t made for seeking friendship.” Nines shifts ever so slightly but Gavin catches the movement. And for some strange reason he feels uneasy.

“Aren’t you friends with Connor?” Gavin asks, aiming for nonchalance while going back to his forgotten meal. There’s a burger somewhere in there, too. Nines shrugs, his palms running impatiently over the fabric of his jeans for a moment. “He is… a source of insight.”

“Wow,” Gavin snorts with sincerity now. “You jam your tongue down his throat and now you won’t even call him a friend. That’s cold.” The icy wastes of Antarctica don’t compare, that’s for fucking sure. And Gavin was supposed to be the asshole in this arrangement. He can tell Nines is just as uncomfortable, wincing at the vulgar phrasing, but Gavin wouldn’t be Gavin if he didn’t feel encouraged to pour some more salt over it all.

“I only did it to-”

“To fuck with me. Yeah, I know.” Nines hums absently and stops his fretting. He looks into the distance as if reminiscing. Gavin follows his line of sight, waits for him to gather his bearings.

“He didn’t appreciate it,” Nines admits eventually.

“Aw,” Gavin coos. “Kissing you ain’t half bad.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Don’t say thank you, it’s awkward.”

“Okay?”

Okay.

  

\---

 

It should’ve clued him in, the way Nines kept playing with the stationary, pressing the pad of his finger into the tip of a pencil, or how he ran a thumb across a stack of paper repeatedly because no fear of papercuts would stop him. He’s decided to ignore it, what does he know about androids anyway, and now he’s gawking comically at Nines after bumping his knee into the other’s like many, many times before but _this time_ he watches Nines jump upon contact.

Gavin leans bodily across the desk to whisper at Nines like a frenzied lunatic.

“Did you turn on your sensors?” Does that count as foreplay?

Nines stands abruptly, so sudden that it startles Gavin.

“Don’t follow,” he says and walks out of sight, leaving Gavin to contemplate what the hell he’d done wrong now. Chewing his bottom lip, he tries and fails to go back to his paperwork, occasionally glancing around the office to see if Nines had come back. But the android stays gone. Half an hour, maybe more, passes until his phone buzzes with a new message.

_I want you to touch me._

He reads it again, just to be sure. The letters don’t rearrange magically. So, they’re really doing this now, huh.

_i was gonna. why did u run_

Gavin scans the room again, in case someone might catch sight of the nervous blush that’s creeping up his cheekbones. It’s already awful enough that Tina keeps teasing him nowadays, how Nines has domesticated the precinct’s resident asshole. She’d always end her point by drawing a heart in the air, and she doesn’t even… _know_ anything yet.

_I’m sorry. I needed some time to think. Come and find me._

Fuck. The office chair squeaks in protest as Gavin jumps up, dropping his phone noisily onto the surface of the table. He runs a trembling hand through his hair. Somehow, the weariness that threatened to run him down just a minute ago is playing second fiddle in the face of Nines’ request. He checks a few interrogation rooms, and the corridors that declare _authorized personnel only_. No sign of him. Downstairs, the shooting range proves to be empty as well. He’s really gonna make him work for it.

 

\---

 

The white of the CyberLife issued jacket glows promisingly in the fluorescent lighting of the upper floor break room, the one that’s rarely used, and Gavin moves towards it, too dazed to call out. He’s glad that Nines isn’t facing him, or otherwise he’d be witnessing his erratic body language, maybe taunt him for it, rightly so. Once he’s close enough, he bumps his forehead into his shoulder blade and runs a hand over the android’s hipbone.

“You’re such a tease, you know that?”

Nines turns and Gavin is faced with warm brown eyes where he expects icy gray. He drops his hand with dread, thinks he’s going to throw up which, at least, would distract him from the way Connor blinks at him like he’s awaiting an explanation for Gavin’s bizarre behavior. And what would he even have to say, if he could? Nines won, that’s the lesson here. Dressed up his pawn, a gift-wrapped calamity to Gavin’s shrinking sanity. And he let himself be conned, yet again, like a fucking idiot.

 

_Come and find me._

_Come and find me._

_Come and find me._

 

Oh, he will. In fact, it’s the only thing left on his mind.

  

\---

 

He spots Nines, the real Nines, near the lockers in the left wing of the building. Gavin stalks towards him, bloodlust flickering with every step that he takes, and wordlessly plants his fist into the android’s perfect face. The impact screams agony down his entire arm but he is too livid to care. Nines doesn’t cry in pain, doesn’t need to. He’s eerily silent as he wipes at the blue dripping down his chin.

“What happened?” His tone is flat, the words forming bloody bubbles on his lips. Nines doesn’t get to play games this time, fuck that.

“You damn well know!”

“No, I don’t,” Nines retorts immediately, voice raised to match Gavin’s sudden fit; LED an angry red. “I really don’t. I am struggling to understand anything about you, and whenever I fool myself into thinking that we might reach a consensus, you decide to overthrow my efforts.”

And then, more quiet, more pressing, he adds: “You’ve got issues, Detective.”

Nines dodges the punch that’s being thrown his way perfectly this time, isn’t as lenient as before. The difference in strength is clear as day, even when Nines isn’t gunning for breaking any of Gavin’s bones, or draw blood. His fighting style is clean and effective and so very, very artificial indeed. What Gavin lacks in physical ability, he makes up in ferociousness and he bucks and bucks in Nines’ grip like a trapped animal. They tumble to the floor eventually and Gavin struggles to leave a mark on someone who doesn’t even feel pain.

There’s a human hand clasping his upper arm, hoisting him up and away from his partner. When he turns around, he is faced with Hank Anderson’s tired scowl. Connor is right behind him, probably the one who alarmed him in the first place.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Reed, take a fucking walk and cool down.”

And Gavin does, stumbles out the room and down the stairs, taking several steps at once. He passes a puzzled Fowler holding what seems to be an order from the station’s favorite bakery down the street, but the Captain doesn’t stop him.

Gavin remembers how his job used to be long hours, interrogations and heaps of coffee only, sometimes he got shot at, a lot of it was paperwork, but most importantly, it was no fucking soap opera. Digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, he takes a moment to breathe. Maybe a day off is in order. He hasn’t had one of those for quite some time. It would spare him having to deal with Nines. Pretty sure him slamming his fist into a coworker’s nose is gonna deliver a disciplinary warning to his steps. Was that part of the plan, too?

He buys a pack of cigarettes and a lighter at a kiosk a couple of blocks away, thankful of the twenty dollar bill he shoved into his back pocket earlier this day, what with his wallet and phone sitting on top of his desk back at the precinct. The clerk clearly has something to say about the look on his face or the way he grinds his teeth but he’s smart enough to stay silent. He wishes him a good day instead.

Outside, Gavin doesn’t waste any time, lights the first smoke with shaking hands, hoping it would take the edge off. He catches sight of his own reflection in the store’s window and only now he realizes what the clerk has been staring at. There are several blue smears of android blood on his cheek, way down past his chin, too. Some disappear into his collar. Gavin rubs at them with the sleeve of his free hand. It doesn’t come off, so he decides to leave it, the look of it taking the fight out of him. He doesn’t have mood swings, per se, but he can sense the blind anger from before being replaced by some sort of sinking feeling and he can’t put a name to it. Disappointment, maybe. Or defeat. Definitely not hurt, he’s not _hurting_ , it just aches, you see, aches someplace in his chest.

_You’ve got issues, Detective._

Nines, that motherfucker, he’s not even human and he dares to call _him_ a freak? He grinds the sole of his boot into scattered pieces of trash on the sidewalk like it would solve the problem but it’s not even distracting him.

However, there is _something_ that piques his interest instead. Gavin’s breath hitches and he coughs out the cigarette smoke he’s been holding in his lungs, can’t believe his luck as he spots Dave Richards talking on the phone in a fenced parking lot across the street. That can’t be real. Gavin quickly scans his surroundings, not quite trusting a guy like Richards to casually walk anywhere near the broader radius of the police station thirsting to click handcuffs around his wrists. Right in front of Detective Gavin Reed.

It has to be a trap, it has to, but Richards is moving now, towards the alleys stretched behind the front buildings and Gavin can’t just let him disappear.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im such an edgelord
> 
> honestly, most of these plot lines didn't exist when i first typed up an outline for whatever story i was trying to tell. they were never supposed to get that close at this point buuuuuut
> 
> i had a hard time writing this bc i kept getting distracted by the remaining chapters and i tried not to make this feel like a filler


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling back into old patterns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I had a lot of shit to do, job hunting being the most time consuming one. And I also re-wrote a lot of parts constantly. Anyway, for some reason I was thinking of Joel Kinnaman for Richards and I've only seen Kinnaman in Suicide Squad and Altered Carbon trailers, so... why am I thinking of you, dude?

_Clack, clack, clack._

Connor swirls the oversized cotton swab inside the small bottle. The clear liquid soaked up by it is designed to clump up thirium and stop it from leaking any further. His left hand tilts Nines’ chin upwards while the other cautiously dabs the substance along his nostrils. It’s sufficient for now, but he still needs to see CyberLife for repairs later. The more pressing issue is… what on earth just happened.

Nines had to piece it together bit by agonizing bit, to understand where things went wrong. At first, the outburst seemed random, just another anomaly carrying Gavin’s fingerprints. Not likely, considering the recent development of their relationship, but also not entirely impossible, given his unstable personality. He might not be equipped with an extensive social relations module like Connor is, but he’s still an android and he knows how to learn. So he did. Tried to create a matrix where Gavin is concerned, to map the essence of him, something that makes sense to him. Something he could turn into probabilities and variables. It’s foolish, he understands as much now, humans refuse to be described in terms an android is comfortable with. He never got the clear picture that he wanted. Nowhere near enough.

His jacket, the object of dispute, lays folded in Connor’s lap. After Gavin had bolted, Connor was the one to provide him with the context that somewhat explained the events that followed. It’s… ridiculous, to say the least, how little it took to upset whatever it is they have between them. A misunderstanding, a simple, stupid, unhappy coincidence. Nines gave his jacket to Connor after the latter’s uniform was ruined in a violent struggle. He didn’t think much of it at the time, Connor ran into him in the hallway shortly before, and he didn’t need his at the moment since the coat Gavin selected for him was hanging on the office’s hanger. Simple.

And how could he have predicted that?

“You’re frustrated,” Connor observes while packing up the kit he’d used to patch him up. “I can see why.”

“I handled this whole thing wrongly.” Nines’ voice is small, barely above a whisper. He’s not sure why he’s even talking out loud to Connor, but Connor likes to play at being human, so he caves. It’s the least of his problems.

“I don’t think it’s your fault.”

“It is. He clearly doesn’t trust me, or rather, he _still_ doesn’t trust me or else he might’ve been susceptible to hearing me out. And why should he? I have given him enough reason to… doubt my intentions.”

Connor watches him with plaintive eyes. “What are your intentions, Nines?”

“I don’t know,” Nines lies.

He wants to connect. Forget that him and Gavin are incompatible in more ways than is bearable. And what’s the point of it all? What’s the point of deviancy then? Nines was startled into it the second he was awake. There was no purpose to it, no conflict, no aching for something different. Just broken code from the very start when he was supposed to be perfect. They took that from him, the other deviants. Jericho. And Nines would be lying if he said he doesn’t resent them for it in some capacity. Now he’s left picking up the shattered fragments of a craving for something unknown. Something that’s bearing a human name perhaps.

Thankfully, Hank appears in the door frame before Connor can probe any further. “Are you okay, Nines? Fowler’s taking this seriously, you know. Disciplinary action and all.”

“No!” Nines leaps to his feet. “I can fix this. There’s no need, Lieutenant. This is entirely my fault.”

Hank shakes his head, disappointed for some reason, and Connor looks at them both. “Yeah, and deep down he really loves you. That it?”

“Why would you think that?” Nines asks, bewildered, but the lieutenant just sighs, not deeming that with an explanation. “I really hate to break this up, but we’re already behind schedule, Connor. Are you gonna be alright, Nines?”

Nines nods, avoiding Connor’s concerned glance. “Of course. Thank you for looking after me.” He has somewhere else to be, by any means.

 

\---

 

Dusk is approaching. His shift is nearing its end, and so is Gavin’s, but his partner is nowhere in sight. Nines hovers by the precinct’s north entrance for a while, it’s the one Gavin stormed out of, and eventually spots a security camera mounted on the building opposite of the station. He figures it’s as good a place to start as any.

 

\---

 

The area is dead silent, save for the faint caress of evening traffic in the distance, but Nines can make out the telltale signs of human activity in the yard surrounding the small warehouse just fine. This place is not abandoned.

Nines slips quietly through the same entrance he’s seen Gavin use in the hacked video footage. Inside, he scans the detective’s footsteps for guidance, ignoring the various pieces of rubble lining the dusty passage. It’s awfully dark inside and it’s straining his visual processors enough to make them work overtime to keep up. He can hear clatter from maybe two rooms away, the one emitting light from a single lamp judging by its lack of intensity, and creeps closer to tune his sensors to what’s happening inside.

Someone’s talking. His voice recognition software confirms the owner of the voice to be Dave Richards. He’s seen him, seen Gavin follow him through the lenses of several cameras spread throughout the city. Nines keeps himself from assuming the worst.

Then, finally, the low growl of Gavin’s voice finds his ears. _He’s alive_. Having already thought about retrieving a body before being able to reconcile… he crushes the notion, intent on moving on. On working with what’s at hand. He can dissect this parody of human emotion later. Nines chances a peak past the door frame.

It takes him less than a second to memorize the picture: it’s not just a room, it turns out, it’s the main hall of the building. Richards has his back turned towards him, and Gavin, arms tied behind his back, on the floor, is staring up at him in a bold display of hostility. On the left side, there are two men, well-known to the police in their own right, packing unidentifiable items into boxes, while two others are discussing their next steps with Richards in hushed tones.

Nines pauses the image in his head, uses it to compute distances, probabilities, anything and everything that might be useful to his escape plan. None of the percentages satisfy. He swipes away most of his HUD display and focuses on the readings of one single heartbeat in the room for a while, synchronizes his pump regulator to it. 

_I’ve got you._

The conversation dwindles down eventually. He hears the frustrated scrape of Gavin’s boots on the concrete floor in the silence that follows after, as if asking him to hurry up. Nines shifts his weight, unsure which path to choose, as he translates life and death into statistics.

He’s too preoccupied with a perfect outcome, when the notification he dismissed a few moments ago pops up again: someone’s coming his way, detection inevitable at this point. A few seconds, that’s about as much as he gets, and he braces himself for confrontation. It’s the first time for Nines, to be forced to decide something so critical, faced with irreversible failure should he miscalculate. Something he’s only familiar with through Connor’s memories when he interfaced with him months ago. And now it’s time to reap the benefits of CyberLife programming. Six, five, four… Pre-construction complete. It's shameful, how nervous he is. Three. Gavin’s heartbeat is thrumming in his head like a guideline. Two. The unmistakable clatter of a holstered gun. They won’t have time to use it. One.

Just as computed, he pulls the unsuspecting man to his chest once he rounds the corner, twisting his arm behind his back before he can realize what is happening to him. Uses him as a shield and aims the stolen gun at the first person to turn his way. The bullet blows a hole between the poor bastard’s eyes but Nines doesn’t stop to appreciate his own efficiency and moves to the next target. He gets two successful shots in, then the sharp click of a cocked gun moves to the center of his attention and he freezes. The gun is not pointed at him.

Nines lowers his weapon obediently, an act of surrender, and drops it to the floor and skids it over when Richards beckons him to do so all while still clutching the other guy for protection.

Recalculating...

A shot goes off in the commotion that follows. His hostage shouts in panic when it rips past them. Richards raises one of his hands to his men, calming them.

Recalculating...

“Fuck,” Gavin hisses, cursing in unison with whoever is left alive.

Richards turns to Gavin, low whistle on his lips. “I’m guessing Terminator here is with you?” But Gavin says nothing, he just stares into Nines’ face like he’s grown a second head. “Tell him to let go of our friend. I think he’s hugging him a little too tightly.”

His tone implies he is more amused than he is worried about the turn of events but then again, Richards’ list of criminal offenses might put an encyclopedia to shame. A little quarrel and a few dead bodies aren’t going to faze him.  

Gavin shakes his head no.

“Okay, let’s try again,” Richards singsongs and pushes the barrel of the gun more deliberately into Gavin’s temple. Nines drops the hostage unceremoniously and the man crumbles with the loss of support, scrambling indignantly to his feet, face red with fury and embarrassment. Richards stops him from reaching for his gun and shooting Nines in retaliation with a patronizing click of the tongue.

“I’ve seen this model before. On tv. During the revolution.” He cranes his neck to meet Gavin’s line of sight better. “One of the police androids that got loose and secured the deviant’s victory. Nice job on that, by the way.” Richards nudges his shoulder with his knee, laughing to himself.

It’s confusing. Every second that he still gets to live. Confusing.

He then returns his attention to Nines and motions him to step closer into the scant lighting. When Nines complies, the remaining members of the operation follow his movements with apprehensive eyes. The atmosphere is wound tight, the tension threatening to snap. All of it accentuated by Gavin’s frantic heartbeat ringing in his ears. Only Richards seems to be relaxed, despite the stink of gunpowder and fresh blood hanging between them.

That’s probably why he has no problem entering Nines’ personal space, or what would be considered personal space for a human being anyway, without fear of having his bones snapped in half. Before he does, he hands one of his men the gun.

“If it makes any sudden moves, shoot the cop.”

He approaches and knocks his knuckles into Nines’ chest like a curious child would tap the glass of an aquarium.

Recalculating...

“C’mon, talk to me, Detective. You’ve been so chatty just moments ago, calling me e-ver-y name in the book, and now you’re giving me the silent treatment. What happened?” he chuckles, still examining Nines’ build, smoothing his palms over his shoulders, even jostling him a little to check how sturdy he is.

“He’s sulking,” Richards tells Nines conversationally. “What’s your name, Terminator?”

Richards is a tall man, slightly taller than Nines. He has to tilt his head back to stare at him at close quarters.

“Hmm, quite the team, you two.” Richards turns to one of his colleagues after a few more seconds of silence. “I say, we take this one down to Basker’s, have him reset it and join the team. That being said, I ask you boys not to hold any grudges.” He wiggles his fingers towards the bodies on the other side of the room. The reactions to his proposal are mixed, the member who has been restrained by Nines huffing in protest while some others shrug in indifference.

“Isn’t the thirium worth like twenty batches of red ice?” one says. Seventeen at most, Nines data bank provides. But the prospect of being reset, of having his memory erased, is much more distressing than being disassembled and bled dry.

Richards shakes his head. “Maybe, but I think its...  _talents_ are more useful to us.”

Nines couldn’t care less about their opinions, his gaze is trained on Gavin, computing, computing, computing scenario after scenario, trying to find one where he survives. The chances are always too low, too risky. And Gavin himself? His heartbeat is steady now, steadier than before, now that Nines is sharing his spot in this fuckup of a situation.

But he doesn’t know what it _means_ when Gavin’s heartbeat is steady. Does it make him more or less likely to try something stupid? He’s watching Gavin watching him and nothing comes up. Everything points to the same problem: he doesn’t know Gavin well enough. Not enough data available. Or worse, conflicting data. The frustration of being denied a clear decision is threatening to paralyze his systems. His mind is going in circles, picking up and aborting processes, LED burning yellow.

Recalculating...

“Find a way to restrain the android and pack up the rest of the product. Take the cop with you. And hurry, will ya? We probably don’t have much time before the rest of them notice they’re missing.”

Nines watches Richards leave through a rusty double door, and restarts his calculations. Without him in the room, they might have a chance. The most successful scenario turns up a survival chance of 67%. All he needs is a distraction, a lapse in attention, just one second to gain the upper hand and push that percentage into acceptable territory.

They move a few steps towards him, unsure of how to go about Richards’ request. Clearly, none of them want to get too close and the one man that has gotten too close earlier is still looking like he’d rather shoot Nines on the spot. Looks like he’s taking it personal. How peculiar. When Gavin’s heart rate starts to pick up again, however, it’s a dog whistle to Nines’ systems, and he suspends his assessment of the guy.

“ _Nines!_ ”

The sudden bark of Gavin’s voice attracts everyone’s attention, and no matter how brief, it turns out to be a deadly mistake. He rips the gun from the person closest to him, marks them by priority and pulls the trigger three times. Their bodies sink to the floor with a heavy thump each, gazes no longer focused on anything. Nines pays them no mind and goes to kneel next to Gavin. He tears the tape holding his arms and legs together with ease.

“Are you–"

“I’m fine.”

Nines offers a hand and drops it when the gesture is ignored.

“Let’s go after Richards,” Gavin grits out, flexing his arms to get some feeling back into them. Then he checks the bodies for a spare firearm while Nines is left to stare at his back, not believing his stubbornness.

“No, this operation is over. I am fairly certain he’s heard the gunshots and has already fled or, worse, backup is coming up. We’re outnumbered, Gavin. I would prefer to get us out of here unscathed. Please do not argue with me, not now.

“What? You just wanna run?”

“Precisely. It’s the most sensible choice right now. We’re no use to the department if we’re dead.”

Gavin bites his bottom lip in frustration, the line of his body all nervous energy. When he nods, Nines thanks his lucky stars for not having to knock his incredibly bullheaded partner unconscious to drag him out of there. His blessings dissipate as he rattles at the metal door he entered through, futilely, because it has been chained shut from the outside sometime between his arrival and his freeing Gavin.

“Great,” Gavin murmurs at his back, not entirely genuine in his disappointment. “I take it we’re going after him now?”

Nines shoots him a positively venomous look that Gavin seems to enjoy despite it all.

Back in the main hall, he confirms that the only other door has been barred as well. He gives it a few more probing shoves and kicks but it’s no use, even for someone with inhuman strength. Determined not to lose much time, Nines scans his surroundings, notes the ladder leading to a second floor and weighs the possibilities of being able to escape via window. They would need a rope or something of the kind, so he lets his gaze wander over the various bits and pieces strewn across the cluttered old warehouse until he spots it by a shelf that’s seen better days.

“Where the hell is our backup, though? Are those assholes taking naps or what? I mean, you _did_ call for backup, didn’t you? Nines?”

Well, yes and no.

“I’ve transmitted my position to Connor at reasonable intervals when I followed your trail. Something in this building however is actively blocking my connection. While I’m certain that Connor could identify the warehouse as my current location with the information I provided, it will still take him some time to realize that something is amiss. So until then, we’re on our own.”

“Just say fucking no, you fucking fuckwit.” Gavin runs a jittery hand through his hair and murmurs to himself, too low for the audio processors to pick it up. Nines watches his quiet little breakdown for a bit.

“Do you smell that? Like something’s on fire?” Gavin pipes suddenly and looks over the hall for a possible source, posture straightening.

“No, I don’t.” If there was indeed a fire in the building, they’d have even less time to find an escape route. It would also explain the locked doors. Maybe they are trying to burn them alongside everything else.

Gavin scoffs, kicking at some boxes in his way. “Really? You can’t smell that? You’re so goddamn useless.”

“I’m sorry, Gavin, the dried thirium in my nostrils is clogging the gas sensors. So if it’s the decrease in performance you’re bemoaning, you only have yourself to blame, I’m afraid,” Nines snaps, patience wearing thin. They’re trapped in this warehouse, a warehouse that is possibly on fire, after Gavin foolishly decided to go on a solo mission, and now he has nothing better to do than to spew this insufferable rhetoric he has graced him with since the very beginning of their partnership.

“Oh do I now? Who started this shit, huh?”

And there’s no end in sight.

Nines lets go of the ladder he was inspecting and whips around. “Please define _started_ , because I remember every word you said to me but you seem to have forgotten or else you would not think yourself so innocent.”

There’s a few heartbeats of silence, Nines can count them precisely since he’s still synchronized to Gavin’s. Priorities. He climbs the ladder intently, their weight shaking the rusty frame when Gavin joins him.

“Sorry to have hurt your non-existent feelings,” he says from below.

The second story is considerably dustier than the first. Probably not part of the operation, at least not on this side. He checks the first door on the right, finds it locked and rips it from its hinges with little remorse. The old wooden door splinters miserably, spraying his dress shoes with its remains.

“I find your choice of words very ironic. I do believe you wish for me to have feelings,” Nines retorts, not looking back at him as he steps into the tiny room. “More specifically, you want me to have feelings for _you_.”

He can’t see it but he hears Gavin bristle at that.

“And I believe you’re projecting, buddy.” The way he tries to school his tone into something detached renders Nines’ many classifiers obsolete. It is just that obvious. Android or not. Sometimes Nines constructs scenarios in which he admits that he can hear him lying every time and one in which he asks him to be straightforward with him. None of them end well, so he plays the game of dancing around the things he actually wants to say, and learns its rules with every subterfuge. Humans seem to simultaneously tire and not tire from it themselves. Writing ballads about their miscommunications like it’s worth the trouble. “Besides, you’re the one that’s stalking me, running around doing favors and shit. But you conveniently skip that part, huh.”

Nines drops the rope next to him where it lands with a dull thump. He sees Gavin jump out of the corner of his eye, the adrenaline keeping him on edge still. Fair enough, Nines thinks, he just escaped certain death. At the moment, that percentage is down, provided they find a way out fast enough. Smoke is reaching inside the room now, blooming gray and threatening across the ceiling, not hiding the presence of a fire any longer. Time is running out and they’re spending it at each other’s throats.

The only window of the room is nailed shut with wooden boards. He digs his fingers into a ridge and forces one of them out of its place while Gavin hovers by the door frame, gun shaking a little in his hands.

“I am not opposed to establishing a connection with you, Gavin. You seem to insinuate that I am too uncomfortable to admit such a thing. I’m not.” He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Gavin’s eyes are focused on him. Assessing him, maybe. Like he’s trying to figure out whether Nines is telling the truth. This paranoia of his is what has been smothering their delicate bond – still is. And Gavin sure holds it dear, the only protection that he knows. Nines wants to make him understand. But it has to wait.

He gets rid of the last board, swiftly driving an elbow into the glass behind it once it’s gone, shattering it easily. The smoke uses this as an opportunity to flee as well. Gavin left his post and is by his side now. He pushes some shards into the evening air carefully. Holding up the rope he abandoned earlier, Nines gestures towards Gavin. “You first.”

“Why me?”

“I’m not going to let you suffer from smoke inhalation.”

“What about you?”

Nines glances out the window, calculating the height separating them from the ground. “I’ll follow after. We’re short on time. Please.”

For a split second, he thinks Gavin is going to protest again but he only nods, inspecting the height as well. Nines takes this as his cue to loop the rope around his body in a makeshift safeguard. “Do you have any idea of what you’re doing?” Nines hums, affirmative. “These knots ensure optimal weight distribution. Considering the means, that is.”

“I was joking.” Gavin shakes his head and laughs softly, a stark note amidst the low roar of the fire, and Nines realizes that he trusts him still. Trusts him to get him to safety. He rises and places a kiss to Gavin’s brow before reason stops him.

“I’ll wait for you down there,” Gavin whispers, averting his eyes and climbing over the window frame. “You better not die, asshole.”

His knuckles turn white from gripping the wooden veneers of the building, hesitating a little too long. Nines rubs a comforting hand over the small of his back. “Are you afraid of heights, Gavin?”

“Who the fuck isn’t?” Gavin snaps, but there’s no real heat behind it. A cough rattles his body and interrupts what he was about to say next. They have to hurry. He closes his fingers around the rope when Gavin is ready to let go, and lowers him, slow and cautious, onto the grass beneath. Meanwhile, the fire is painting the inside of the hall in bright orange lights. Nines observes the scene curiously from where he’s still standing at the window. Now that Gavin is safe, he feels strangely calm. He thinks about how he will have to submit these bits of his memory to his colleagues as evidence and how he should not have kissed him.

“Nines, what are you standing around for, get down here!”

He secures the remaining rope around the tabletop of an office desk. It’s should suffice as a counterweight once it’s wedged against the window frame. Even if it breaks, he’d only need it to soften the fall. Nines won’t necessarily be damaged beyond repair if he drops down from this height, but he prefers not to take the risk anyway.

As soon as he reaches firm ground, Gavin throws his arms around his neck, pulling him down, and Nines closes his eyes to the blinding red and blue approaching the burning warehouse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on to the finale my friends, thank you for staying tuned


End file.
